


loveless serpent, too much sugar and coffee shop au

by crimemaker123



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28674027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimemaker123/pseuds/crimemaker123
Summary: Hello there! I used to write a lot of fanfiction but dropped off the habit at some point, but since I am preparing for the single most important exam of my life, the university entrance exam in my country, I figured why not pick up some old hobbies to procrastinate. This story is my first try at what is known as the "coffee shop au", because we all need to chill a bit these days and read/write a fluffy story (and NOT reflect our own insecurities, depression and struggles about love onto fictional characters but I can't promise that's not going to happen). I usually love sharing my work and receive feedback so I really hope people will take time to check out this story.As for the story itself: All I know is that Crowley and Aziraphale are humans in this version and they meet at a coffee shop. Who knows what happens next? Not me.PS: I'm also entirely new to the ao3 community so I think it might be a while before I can fully figure out how to use this site.Yet another note: I'm not a native English speaker so if there are places that sound weird or off, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know! Thanks!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 5





	loveless serpent, too much sugar and coffee shop au

Sad and lonely.

That’s how Crowley felt. He had been thinking about it for a while now, and finally, quietly, he decided that he felt sad and lonely.

That’s why he was at the coffee shop right beneath his apartment, sulking and quietly drinking his coffee. His aim, coming into the shop, had been mainly to sulk. The coffee was _not_ an aim, it was actually more of a burden, the barista here seemed to think sugar was the greatest invention since fire and dumped loads of it despite his requests, warnings, and finally threats, but nevertheless, the coffee shop was a good place to sulk, and he would feel embarrassed if he didn’t order anything.

He wanted to believe he was cool usually, suave in his ways and charming with his fancy sunglasses and red hair dye, but at that moment precisely, his black t-shirt very faintly smelling, his leather jacket crumpled, his hair greasy (because taking a shower seemed difficult these past days) he did not feel cool, or suave, or charming: he felt like a pile of dirty laundry.

Even the grimace on his face felt like unnecessary effort as he eyed around the coffee shop. A group of teenagers at the corner, a couple under the window ( _in love,_ he thought as his grimace deepened), another couple at the table in the middle of the small shop (now, why would you choose such a table if you did not _clearly_ want to show everyone around that you were happy and in love?) and couples and friends and couples and -wasn’t this coffee shop too small for this many people? He felt even more depressed when he realized he was the only one sitting by himself. The hallow feeling right behind his throat grew a little.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have friends. He had a lot of people he hung out with, he could be outgoing and friendly when he wanted to, and he sure did know how to have fun. It was just that he had been a little depressed for a while and he didn’t have anyone who would check on him, you know. He had always felt a little too distant. A little too protected. A little too different, like he was of a different kind, like he would never find any one of the same kind.

Crowley realized he had been sulking a little too hard when he was startled to hear a voice right behind him. “Extra sugar, please,” called a soft voice. Crowley realized just how close to the bar his table was and uncomfortably tried to move away from the bar and the stranger that was standing a little too close. Unfortunately, his uncool efforts in trying to move his chair without getting up on his feet was noisy enough to attract the attention of the stranger. He turned around and the first thing Crowley realized was just how ridiculous his outfit was. He was dressed in an all-white suite (how extra, he thought, failing to realize he, himself, was wearing sunglasses inside the coffeeshop) and he had a tartan bowtie around his neck. He, then, realized, despite the ridiculous outfit and fashion choices Crowley could never forgive (see the tartan tie), the stranger was quite attractive. His hair was snow white (probably hair dye, Crowley thought, the stranger seemed too young to go white just yet) and he had an easy, pleasant smile. “Excuse me,” said the stranger in that soft tone that he had just heard call for extra sugar, “I didn’t mean to bother you. Didn’t see you there.”

“No problem,” He realized his voice was low and husky from all the sulking he had been up to lately.

The stranger looked at Crowley and the smile right on the corner of his pink lips suggested Crowley, that it was maybe possible that the stranger could be thinking about the same stuff after all. Except the fashion bit of course. Crowley refused to think this ridiculous outfit could be judging his sense of fashion, even if his jacket _was_ crumpled and his t-shirt _did_ smell a bit. He felt the folds in his brain wrapping around the same spiral of thoughts at the realization of the smell he was emanating.

By the time the stranger turned around Crowley was lost once again.

Now he was thinking, only had I somebody to love. Not even that, but maybe just somebody who would check on him from time to time to make sure he didn’t slip and accidentally blow his brains out or something.

Once again, the soft voice of the attractive stranger startled Crowley. “You always make such good coffee, Sophia,” he was saying, “Just the right amount of sugar.” The barista laughed, delighted to be complimented on her lack of talent on coffee-making.

The stranger glanced at Crowley, carefully, on his way out and when he saw Crowley staring back, he smiled warmly once again and nodded goodbye. _That’s too much sugar_ , Crowley was thinking. What kind of human actually enjoys that much sugar? Too sweet.


End file.
